


9 O'Clock

by ember_firedrake



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'll do you at 9 o'clock"</i>
</p><p>(Episode tag for 4x16: "Dear Ma")</p>
            </blockquote>





	9 O'Clock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlacesBetween](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlacesBetween/gifts).



Of all things, BJ wasn't sure why the Army required an examination of everyone's feet. Why not a full physical to make sure their health was good, or a psych evaluation to make sure the stresses of war hadn't become too much? Ah, but that would mean sending people home, the endless days and poor nutrition and constant threat of shelling wearing them all past the point of exhaustion. Better to simply combat trench foot and jungle rot and ensure that everyone could stand, the better to hold a rifle or scalpel. 

Except for the brief foray into tormenting Frank (who had presumably gone back to Margaret's tent to spew indignities), BJ had almost forgotten his own feet hadn't been looked at yet. It wasn't until Hawkeye tapped the edge of his cot that evening that BJ remembered his "I'll do you at 9 o'clock" promise.

BJ knew better than to put it off—he wouldn’t be one of those doctors who neglected his own health. “All right, let’s get this done,” he said, shifting sideways so his legs hung off the cot.

“I’ll have you know I’ve received nothing but compliments all day,” Hawkeye said, taking a seat on the stool. “Well—Frank notwithstanding. If it makes you feel better, just lie back and think of North Korea.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” 

Hawkeye laughed, the kind that lit up his whole face and his body with it, nearly unseating him from the stool—but he regained his balance, taking BJ’s calf in a light hold as his amusement settled. If Hawkeye’s intent had been to bring levity to the superfluous medical exam, he’d succeeded. BJ lifted his foot to prop it on the edge of the stool, a smile tugging at his features. 

Though Hawkeye often used humor to brighten the mood, he went quiet as he worked. His fingers ghosted over the arch of BJ’s foot, and BJ swallowed. Hawkeye’s fingers were long, slender, and he’d watched them countless times in the O.R. performing life-saving work. It was another thing entirely to have those hands on him now, fingertips skating across the cuneiform bone, the cuboid bone, and the navicular bone. Terminology from his medical texts appeared in his mind, unbidden, as if to distract him from what was happening. 

BJ had never been particularly self-conscious about his feet, but he couldn’t help but feel exposed now, more so than if he had been naked. They’d seen each other mostly undressed, after all, the realities of communal showers and sharing the same tent. But this—Hawkeye’s hands on him, the pressure of his fingers settling at BJ’s ankle—felt somehow more intimate. BJ must have shifted, because Hawkeye glanced up a moment later.

“Ticklish?” 

BJ opened his mouth to say no, before realizing he didn’t have an explanation for his restlessness. Not one he could say aloud, as a curious feeling settled in his stomach. “A little bit,” BJ said, hoping he wasn’t blushing.

“I’ll be gentle then, _mon chéri_ ,” Hawkeye teased, setting down BJ’s foot and lifting the other to continue his examination. 

Only now BJ was aware of it, the points of warmth that seemed to spread from the contact of Hawkeye’s fingers. _Metatarsal, phalange, calcaneus, retinaculum_ —the bones and tendons of the foot becoming a mantra to occupy his mind. The ache in BJ’s chest stuttered as Hawkeye pressed fingers to his ankle. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen a better-looking pair of feet today, doc,” Hawkeye said, looking back up.

He was saying something else, but BJ missed the words, caught for the moment by the blue of Hawkeye’s eyes, the crinkles at the corners as he grinned. BJ’s pulse seemed to pound in his ears, the curious ache in his chest expanding as if to envelop him. It was more than a simple regard for the man’s abilities, and went far beyond fondness. It was...almost like homesickness, though it wasn’t drawing him thousands of miles away, but right here in this tent. 

A squeeze of Hawkeye’s hand on his ankle brought BJ back to his senses. “I said, I’d offer you a kiss on the instep for circulation, but you’re in top shape.” 

BJ shook his head, finding a smile and a chuckle. “Must be something in that west coast air.”

“Now if only I could use my medical authority to recommend some long-term R&R in your fine state,” Hawkeye said. “Just until the war’s over. For the good of the outfit, you understand.”

“Of course,” BJ said, falling back into his easy verbal back-and-forth as Hawkeye released his foot. 

The ghost of that contact still lingered, but BJ pushed it from his mind. Hawkeye was his best friend, and that was what truly mattered. The ache in his chest was less easily ignored, but for now, at least, he could live with the feeling.


End file.
